The flight over was good, with one complication: there was an autistic boy of about 14 years sitting in my section of the aircraft. And I know it wasn't his fault, but... he liked singing and clapping. He really liked singing and clapping. So we got to listen to him singing (wordlessly and somewhat tunelessly, in a high voice that sounded like its owner was laughing or weeping or possibly both) and clapping along with the same two bars of “Here Comes The Sun” for FOUR STRAIGHT HOURS while everyone else was trying to sleep.
My earplugs cut the sound somewhat, but I could still smell the building air-rage in the other passengers (most of whom, in fairness, probably didn't know the boy was autistic: I only knew because I'd been behind him and his father in the check-in queue and heard the father tell the check-in clerk).
Had a jet-lag moment on the train from Heathrow to London: looking out the window at the darkness with only the occasional light, I thought, “Wow, this tunnel's much longer than I remember...”. It took a minute to realise that (a) it was 6:30am; (b) it's just about winter, meaning it's dark quite late in the morning; and (c) we weren't really in a tunnel. :-)
Oh, and: rhysara, my sister and Mum love their prints of the snarky eye picture of me.